Vampire Crush(63)
Author: A.M. Robinson

"Stop," he says.

The shortness of his interruption makes my stomach sink; it was too soon to come over here. I peer over the side of the roof as I try to figure out my exit strategy. It’s still a little daunting to think that I should ever just leap off a roof. "Maybe we should talk later," I say, but before I can do anything, he grabs my hand.

Idiot, that’s not what you meant. The thought cuts into my own, and it takes me a moment to realize that’s not my thought – it’s his.

"Then what did you mean?" I ask, and I can tell that I’ve thrown him.

"Okay, that really is kind of annoying," he says before his face turns serious. "What I meant to say is that you shouldn’t apologize. I was jealous, but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy that you’re alive. Never apologize for that."

I look at him, not knowing what I could possibly say through the well of emotion that has decided to gather in my throat.

"And if I ever act like you should," he continues, "you can totally throw things at my head."

I manage a shaky laugh. "Just then?" I joke, but it has no edge at all because I am too busy looking at him. After all these days of being surrounded by slightly neon people, it’s nice to be next to someone who is nice and non-shiny.

"You, on the other hand, look like a weather map," he says.

It’s all I can do not to pull my hand away; this is not something that I am going to get used to, not the mind reading or the idea that James pictures me as a warm front. "Really?" I ask, more disappointed than I want to be. At least he didn’t say that I’m the color of a baboon’s butt.

He snorts, and I realize that he’s still tuning in.

"Stop listening!"

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. After a while he says, "I wasn’t being serious. There’s just a slight glow."

"Why can’t I hear you as well as you can hear me?" I ask, because it’s true. I only seem to hear him when we are touching.

"I don’t know," he says. "Maybe it’s because you’re not a full vampire."

Maybe. For all my attempts to drown myself in normalcy, questions are starting to seep in. Lately, I’ve been trying to remember all of the things Vlad ever said and trying to sort the legitimate from the delusional. I should have taken his dumb book when he offered it to me.

"Then what am I?"

"You’re Sophie," James says. "That’s all that matters to me. That’s all that matters to anyone."

"Do you think the other vampires will stay?"

"Marisabel is already gone."

"What?"

"She left a few days ago. She said there were too many memories here, and she wanted to try things on her own for once."

"But where will she go?" I ask.

"She said that she’d figure something out."

"So Violet and Neville are staying?"

"You couldn’t pry Violet away with a stick. And Neville apparently has some part in the musical. Troy or something? I don’t know. He’s very excited."

It’s a little strange how happy I am to hear that Violet will be staying, even though it means that the Neal problem is still . . . well, the Neal problem.

"What about Vlad?"

"He’s dead, Sophie."

"I know that. But aren’t people at school going to wonder where he went?" I ask.

"There never were any records. Vlad used his powers to convince people that he should be there, I’ll be able to convince people that he shouldn’t. And after all, there aren’t any parents to report him missing."

"So you’re staying?" I ask, because while all signs point to this, I just need for him to say it.

James looks at me, his eyes dark with emotion. So is the rest of his face because, you know, it’s the middle of the night. But his eyes are darker. I swear.

"Where else would I go?" he says softly.

"I don’t know. I thought you might want to get away from . . . reminders."

He looks up at the sky, at the stars above. "When I came back I thought that living in my old house would make everything feel . . . I don’t know, corrected somehow. I thought I would feel like nothing had changed. And then when it didn’t feel like that, I hated it. I hated every single brick and shingle. But it doesn’t matter anymore."

"Why?"

He looks at me, gaze intent. "Because when I’m with you, I still feel like me. And maybe that’s enough."

His words elate me – there is no other good way to describe this – and it causes severe technical difficulties between my brain and my mouth. But maybe that’s because I’m not supposed to talk. This time I have no trouble closing the distance. My kiss lands southeast of its target, but he corrects my tactical error. It’s not perfect. Sure, his lips are cooler than the average guy’s and I think that I may be sitting on his hand, but under the very strange circumstances I think this is a happyish ending.

And you know what? Kissing on rooftops is kind of awesome.